


caught in the crossfade

by xlightless



Category: B.A.P
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1980s, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Character Turned Into a Ghost, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Murder Mystery, Period-Typical Homophobia, Supernatural Elements, Time Skips, does it count as character death if the character starts out dead, past!himdae - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-02
Updated: 2018-11-17
Packaged: 2019-05-17 05:38:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 18,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14826350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xlightless/pseuds/xlightless
Summary: In 1980, Kim Himchan was killed during the Gwangju Uprising. In 2020, Bang Yongguk works at his university radio station playing late night hip hop music and giving advice to the sleep-deprived campus population. He finds an analog radio and tunes in to something he didn’t expect.





	1. stay tuned

**Author's Note:**

> there she goes again, experimenting with overplayed tropes and half-baked bs. inspired partly by the 2011 korean movie sunny bc wow i love that movie a lot lmao
> 
> i know i have like a million other on-going stories but this is just to help with writer's block. i swear.

“This will be our last call for the night.” Yongguk presses the button on the soundboard to connect the call. “Hey, you’re on Midnight Seoul. What’s been troubling you lately?”

Someone on the other end takes a deep breath, and then a young woman begins talking, her voice soft. “Hi, Bang, I love listening to your shows because they’re so calming. I’ve just been feeling really stressed out by midterms coming up… Do you have anything that would help me out?”

Yongguk smiles. He likes knowing that his show is helping the few people awake and willing to listen to his late night rambles. “Well, you sound overwhelmed. I think you should take a step back and just take a deep breath. It’s okay to take breaks. Now, your parents might not like the next piece of advice I’m going to give you, but your entire life isn’t going to be dictated solely by your grades this semester. Make sure that what you’re doing right now becomes something you can be proud of later. Do what you like, love what you do.”

“Thank you,” she says after a moment. She takes another deep breath. “That really means a lot.”

“I’m glad to help. Thanks for listening,” Yongguk says. She hangs up and Yongguk glances at his playlist. “This last song was sent in by a student here. He goes by the name Zelo on Soundcloud. Check him out when you’ve got the chance.”

When Yongguk wraps up his show, he turns off the equipment and pulls the headphones off to hang around his neck. He leans back in the swivel chair, yawning as he stretches his arms above his head.

There’s a knock on the glass window and Yongguk spins around to see Youngjae waving from outside the sound booth with a tired smile on his face. Yongguk smiles back and slides his laptop into his backpack. He grabs all his things and walks out to meet Youngjae.

“Hey, you didn’t have to wait up for me,” Yongguk says as he locks up the sound booth.

Youngjae shrugs, his hands stuffed in his sweatshirt pocket. “Hyung, it’s late. Figured you’d need an escort.”

Yongguk shoulders his backpack, smiling at Youngjae. “My regular knight in shining armor.”

“I’ll have you know that chivalry is very alive and well,” Youngjae says with a grin.

Youngjae is the IT guy for the station, a computer science major, and a couple years younger than Yongguk. He thinks Youngjae holds some sort of admiration––maybe even go so far as calling it a crush––but Yongguk doesn’t know if he can see himself with someone as energetic as Youngjae. Not that Youngjae is bad person––he’s a great guy, even cute too in his rare moments––but he’s got a sort of vibe that Yongguk isn’t quite sure he can match.

“I know it’s late, but are you hungry? Did you want to grab something to eat real quick?” Youngjae asks as they walk out of the station. He raises his shoulders to his ears as the brisk nighttime air envelopes them, his breaths coming out in white puffs.

“I’d hate to impose…,” Yongguk begins, but his stomach begins to growl at the same time, and he smiles despite himself, a little sheepish. When was the last time he ate? He tries to ignore the dull throbbing pain radiating from his stomach.

“Hyung, you skipped lunch again, didn’t you?” Youngjae asks, almost a whine, as he walks towards the main street.

“I lost track of time… I was busy working on my thesis,” Yongguk replies, following Youngjae despite his earlier protests. He knows Youngjae is just going to keep insisting. He just feels bad for keeping Youngjae so late.

Youngjae glances over at Yongguk, an eyebrow raised. “Too busy to even feed yourself?”

Yongguk doesn’t know how to reply to that so he just gives Youngjae a pathetic shrug.

They reach the main road, and the city is still bustling with life despite the late hour. Cars are still passing by and neon signs flash on every building within sight. People wander the streets, some tourists, others not. Seoul never really rests, and even though Yongguk grew up close by, he’s still a little surprised every time he walks the streets at night.

“Wanna go to the usual place?” Youngjae asks.

Yongguk hums, stuffing his hands into his jacket pockets. “Sounds good.”

Their usual place is a pojangmacha near the train station. The orange tent is a warm oasis against the cold. They walk inside, pushing the flaps aside and sighing into the immediate warmth. Soon enough, they’re huddled near a standing heater, sitting at the small table on smaller stools. The other people in the tent talk in hushed voices. The smell of kimbap, fish cakes, and soju surrounds them. The steam coming off their own food thaws out the numbness around Yongguk’s ears.

“You didn’t have to pay for it all,” Yongguk says.

Youngjae shrugs, picking up a stick of fish cake and biting down on it. “Please. You’re always working so hard. Let me help you out where I can, hyung.”

Yongguk feels bad, but he hasn’t eaten since this morning and his stomach is calling out to the food. He picks up a roll of kimbap and has to stop himself from practically inhaling it. “Thank you.”

“You should set reminders to eat,” Youngjae says, chewing around a chunk of fish cake. “You shouldn’t be doing the bare minimum to live.”

“I will,” Yongguk replies. He probably won’t.

Youngjae narrows his eyes, but he stays silent and continues eating. “My professor gave a pop quiz today. How do you even give a pop quiz in a programming languages class, you might ask? She knows how, and she did. I mean it wasn’t even _that_ hard, it’s just… Who gives pop quizzes anymore?”

“She does,” Yongguk replies. He appreciates how easily Youngjae can keep a conversation going. It makes up for the silences that Yongguk may inevitably cause. “Though, I don’t know how they contribute to class besides giving the lucky ones a few extra points.”

“Exactly!” Youngjae exclaims. He finishes up the last of the fish cake on his stick and chews on the end for a moment. “It’s _so_ annoying. I’m barely skimming by on an A- and she just _drops_ a quiz outta nowhere? I swear she’s actively trying to fail all of us.”

Yongguk shrugs. “She has her reasons.”

“Well, whatever they are, they’re dumb.” Youngjae places the stick on the table and grabs another. “Just kidding. She’s really smart and she’s doing her best as a teacher, and I gotta respect her for that. Anyway, how’d your day go?”

Yongguk can’t help the amused smile that tugs on the corners of his mouth. He sees Youngjae’s cheeks go a little pink, but he’ll blame it on the heater beside them. “Nothing too interesting.”

Youngjae hums in disapproval. “You must have done something.”

Yongguk shrugs. “Well… I made progress on my thesis. A new chord progression for the second verse. I had to scrap the last one. It just didn’t feel right.”

“See, that’s interesting.” Youngjae hums, chewing on a bite thoughtfully before speaking again. “I kinda liked the last one, though. The whole––” He hums out the tune to the second verse, his hand moving the stick to the beat like a conductor. “––you know?”

“You might like this one more,” Yongguk replies with a quiet huff of a laugh. “It’s not as loud, not as busy.”

Youngjae hums again, this time understanding. “Minimalist. A little like you. It’s a good signature for your music.”

Yongguk smiles. He never thought of it like that. “Thanks.”

“Oh, hyung, I’m gonna be dropping off some of my stuff at the Beautiful Store on Saturday. Wanna come with me?” Youngjae suddenly says.

“Sure,” Yongguk replies. He might be able to find something interesting while he’s there.

Yongguk will admit, though, that he likes Youngjae’s company, too.

//

The Beautiful Store is a secondhand shop with branches scattered all over South Korea, but the closest one to campus is about a thirty minute train ride and five minute walk. The shop is packed with clothes and other assorted items, but because of its proximity to their campus, it gets a lot of clothes from students. Yongguk and Youngjae stumbled upon it one weekend, and they’re sure that they’re singlehandedly keeping this branch financially afloat.

“I’m gonna look around,” Yongguk says as Youngjae makes his way to the register to drop off his clothes.

Youngjae nods. “Sure. I’ll meet with you when I’m done.”

Yongguk actually likes shopping for clothes, but especially secondhand clothes. He likes looking at any given article of clothing in the shop and trying to figure out the history behind it. He likes finding something and giving it a new history.

But today, Yongguk finds something else. He doesn’t know why, but the small analog radio he finds sitting on a shelf near the back seems to be calling out to him. He holds it up by the handle, examining the two dials, the single speaker, and pulls on the antenna. It’s an ordinary analog radio from… He figures from the 1980’s at the earliest.

“Nice radio,” Youngjae says as he comes up behind Yongguk. “Are you gonna buy it?”

Yongguk glances at the price tag. It’s only 5,000 won, and maybe it’s still functional. If not, he figures he can probably let it sit on his desk as a decoration. He turns to Youngjae with a small smile. “Why not?”

//

After Yongguk puts some batteries in the radio, he switches it on. The static bursts through the tiny speaker, a bundle of indecipherable noise, and Yongguk fumbles to lower the volume. He moves the tuning knob around, trying to find a station. He watches the slider move up and down the clear screen at the top of the radio.

“––o?” the speaker plays before fading back into static.

Yongguk jumps in surprise and stops. He turns the knob in the opposite direction, slower this time.

“––one there? Hel––” the voice says again.

Yongguk goes back and forth again, trying to find the right frequency until the voice can be heard clearly through the speaker.

“Hello? Hey, is anyone out there?” the voice asks. Male. Adult. Possibly young. “Is no one going to answer me?”

Yongguk furrows his eyebrows. Why does it seem like his radio…is talking to him? Is this some sort of prank radio? He lifts it, examining every visible inch, but nothing about it says _prank_. It’s a genuine analog radio.

“Hey! You turned on the radio, so answer me!” the voice shouts, and Yongguk almost drops the radio. There’s a terrifying moment where it’s out of his hands and in the air. He manages to catch it before it falls to the ground. “If you actually break this, the repair is coming straight out of your pocket.”

Yongguk’s eyes widen as he stares at the speaker. He lets out a very quiet, very terrified, “What the fuck.”

“Oh, you actually have a voice. Thank god. I don’t know how I’d have a conversation with a mute considering I’m currently fucking _blind_ ,” the radio says.

“What the fuck,” Yongguk says again, louder this time. He glares at the radio, examining it again for anything to tell him that this is all a prank, but again, he finds nothing. “What the _fuck?”_

“Is that all you can say? How old are you?” the radio asks, almost condescending. Yongguk’s stomach twists as he begins to realize that this is real, and this is _happening_.

“My radio is _talking_ ,” Yongguk whispers.

“I mean, technically, it’s _my_ radio, but I’ll look past it since you sound cute,” the radio replies with a scoff.

Yongguk splutters, blinking in surprise because no one’s told him he _sounds_ cute before, let alone by a _sentient radio_. He runs his hands through his hair, trying to make sense of his current situation. “How are you talking to me? Are you watching me right now?”

“Didn’t I just tell you? I can’t see a goddamn thing. I can only _hear_ you.” He seems to sigh. “This would be easier if I had a name to your voice, you know. I’m Himchan.”

Yongguk takes a moment to realize the voice in the radio just gave his name. Yongguk takes another moment to realize that the voice in the radio _has_ a _name_.

“Well? I’d like to assume you have a name, too. Unless you expect me to call you something else?” Himchan says. He’s very clearly growing more annoyed the longer Yongguk stays silent. “Mr. What-The-Fuck? Hmm, no, too many syllables. Handsome Voice is too literal. What about––“

“Yongguk” is out of Yongguk’s mouth before Himchan can finish. “My name. Is Yongguk.”

There’s a silence that follows before Himchan replies with a quiet, “Oh.” Another beat of silence before he speaks again. “So. Yongguk-sshi. How did you come across my radio?”

“How did I––“ Yongguk places the radio on his desk, scratching his head. “How am I even having a conversation with a _radio?”_

“I died,” Himchan replies.

Yongguk chokes on air. He coughs, patting his chest as he tries to clear up his airways. “I’m sorry, you _what?”_

“I died,” Himchan repeats, very matter-of-factly like he’s telling Yongguk the logistics of radio airwaves. “My soul is trapped in this radio until I finish whatever it is that’s keeping me here. Have you never seen a movie before?”

Yongguk leans on his desk with his head in his hands, trying to make sense of his situation. He’s heard rumors of the supernatural wandering among students on campus, but he never thought it would happen to him. This is beginning to play out like a weird movie, or at least a bad dream. His head is pounding, and it’s getting worse the longer he thinks about this.

“So… Am I supposed to help you now?” Yongguk asks.

“Generally, that’s how these things are supposed to go,” Himchan replies. “Unless you’re a heartless man who likes seeing dead young men suffer.”

And Yongguk doesn’t know how to react to that because “Are you _guilt-tripping_ me right now?”

Himchan scoffs. “No?” He pauses for a moment as if to think. “Is it that obvious?”

Yongguk can’t believe this. He’s being _guilt-tripped_ by a _ghost_. He has a thesis project to work on, and he’s being _guilt-tripped_ by a goddamn _ghost_. What has his life become? But still, what is he supposed to do? Leave the radio on his desk and be reminded that there’s a _ghost_ trapped inside it? Or return it to the Beautiful Store and _still_ be reminded that there’s a ghost trapped inside it? His conscience would never let him live this down.

“Alright, _fine_ , I’ll help you,” Yongguk says with a defeated sigh.

“Oh. Wow. I didn’t think that’d work.” Himchan pauses again. “Great! Should we start now?”

Another good question is _where_ to start. Yongguk only has a first name to go off of. He doesn’t even know _when_ Himchan died. “Do you know when you died?”

Himchan scoffs again, and if Yongguk could see Himchan’s face, he thinks Himchan would be rolling his eyes. He seems more than capable of it. “Of course I do. It was… Was…” His voice grows quieter and more unsure. “Um…”

Yongguk already knows that’s a dead end. “Never mind. You don’t have to answer that. How about your surname? It’ll narrow down our search at least.”

“Kim,” Himchan replies almost immediately.

And that doesn’t narrow it down by much, but Yongguk can probably work with that. He pulls out his laptop and looks up the name _Kim Himchan_ for anything. He gets over two million hits in the results, and he begins to feel a little overwhelmed by the sheer amount of information he’s being bombarded with. He takes a deep breath to calm himself. Just scrolling through the first page gives him about ten different Kim Himchans.

_Kim Himchan, pediatrician._

_Kim Himchan, actor and model._

_Kim Himchan, businessman._

_Kim Himchan, singer._

_Kim Himchan, fashion designer._

“You have a very common name apparently,” Yongguk says, clicking through each link. All of them are very alive and older than what the Himchan in the radio sounds like.

“What can I say? I’m just _that_ popular,” Himchan replies.

Yongguk sighs as he clicks the next page. Two _million_ results? He’ll be here forever, and he doesn’t have the time or patience for to sort through all that. Before Yongguk can have a mental breakdown, his phone begins ringing. The chiptune ringtone Youngjae set on Yongguk’s phone echoes throughout Yongguk’s small room.

“What’s that––“

“Sorry, I have to get this,” Yongguk says, tapping on the green button to answer. “Hey, Jae, What’s up?”

“Wait, who’s ‘Jae’? Are you talking to someone right now?” Himchan asks, and Yongguk turns the volume knob all the way down.

“I’m picking up some food right now. Want me to get something for you?” Youngjae asks.

“Uh. Sure. Surprise me. Thanks,” Yongguk replies. “Text me when you’re here and I’ll let you up.”

“Thanks, hyung. See you later,” Youngjae says before ending the call.

Yongguk turns the volume up again.

“You know I can still hear you even if you turn the volume down?” Himchan says, his voice clearly annoyed, and Yongguk will admit he feels a little bad.

“Sorry. A friend called me. He’s picking up food right now,” Yongguk replies. He looks back at his laptop screen. There has to be a better way to do this. He looks at the radio like it, and indirectly Himchan himself, will give him the answers he’s looking for.

But how can a dead man who doesn’t even remember when he died give him the answers he’s looking for?

Himchan hums. “You know what I miss about being alive? Food. There was this restaurant by my share house that made _really_ good fried chicken, but the owners were caught playing rock music, so they, you know. Had to close shop.”

Yongguk blinks, tilting his head. “They were arrested…for playing _rock_ _music?”_

“…yeah? Because of Park Chunghee’s Yushin System?” Himchan replies, just as confused as Yongguk. “I hate to speak ill of the dead, but I’m glad he was assassinated. The greedy bastard. Not to say our current situation is any better, though.”

And Yongguk has to walk himself through years of history lessons and boring government policies that have changed too many times for him to count. Park Chunghee assumed presidency in 1972, and became a dictator under his established authoritarian Yushin System until he was assassinated in 1979. Choi Kyuha became president following Park Chunghee’s death, and then was overthrown by military general Chun Doohwan in a coup d’état.

Well, at least now Yongguk has a solid timeframe of when Kim Himchan was alive.

“Himchan, how old are you?” Yongguk asks. He has a hunch, but he has to make sure.

Himchan is silent for a moment, like… Almost like he’s trying to remember. “I’m twenty-one. Why?”

Just what Yongguk thought. Himchan mentioned living in a share house too, which are usually open only for university students or tourists, and Himchan doesn’t sound like a tourist.

It begins clicking into place, and Yongguk looks at the radio again. He shakes his head. He should have known right from the start. “Himchan, I think… I think you… You died… In 1980. During the Gwangju Uprising.”

Himchan hums, almost like a sigh. “Yeah. That makes sense… Wait.”

“What?”

“You called it… _The_ Gwangju Uprising? Why… What does that mean?” Himchan asks, and if Yongguk didn’t know any better, he might have thought that Himchan was beginning to sound a little panicked.

Yongguk stares at the radio, also confused. He blinks, and suddenly it makes sense. _Of course_ Himchan wouldn’t know about its current name. How could he realize the historical impact of the protest if he didn’t survive long enough to see it?

Just like people didn’t call World War I, _World War I_. They called it the _War to End All Wars_ because they didn’t know there’d be a World War II.

“It’s… The one that happened in May,” Yongguk says.

“Yongguk.” Himchan’s voice is quiet, different from the bubbly ignorance he’d been using earlier. There’s a little static that surrounds the edges of his voice, threatening to cut him off. “What year is it?”

“2020,” Yongguk replies slowly.

“What the fuck,” Himchan whispers.

“Yeah,” Yongguk agrees. “What the fuck.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here’s a quick history lesson for those of you who are confused/interested to learn about the development of democracy in south korea. 
> 
> in 1972, park chunghee became president, threw out the old constitution, and instated a new constitution named the yushin constitution, where its main point was that he could be elected and voted as president for as many times as he wanted (through a rigged system where only one candidate’s name could be on the ballot, which was ~surprise, surprise~ his name), basically making him a dictator. 
> 
> in late 1979, park chunghee was assassinated, and then choi kyuha, the prime minister under park chunghee, assumed presidency, but was quickly overthrown by chun doohwan in a military coup. in early 1980, chun doohwan assumed leadership over south korea and declared martial law. 
> 
> from early to mid 1980, student protests calling for democracy began escalating and eventually came to a head on may 18 in gwangju, named the gwangju uprising in which many students and other civilians died. it ended on may 27 where soldiers eventually subdued the protesters, but this particular protest inspired many others to fight for democracy in south korea. 
> 
> sorry for just dumping all this info right here, but this is the background info you’re gonna need to make some sense of the political themes in the next chapter, which will be focused on himchan. don’t worry though, i won’t put anything too politically heavy bc tbh that’d be too much (as if this isn't already a lot oops)


	2. incoming transmission: the unknown world

Yongguk’s phone chirps with a text ( _Hyung pls let me in food gettin cold)_ from Youngjae, and then it chirps again before he can even pick up his phone to look ( _Also im cold too)_. Yongguk smiles as he gets out of his chair. He glances at the radio, pursing his lips in thought. He can’t just turn it off, can he?

“I’m going downstairs to let my friend in. Do you mind if I turn the radio volume down?” Yongguk asks, his hand hovering above the volume knob.

“Yeah, sure, I’ll try not to eavesdrop, I guess,” Himchan says, but Yongguk isn’t sure if Himchan is being sarcastic or not.

“Okay… Thanks. I think,” Yongguk says before turning the knob down and leaving.

Yongguk’s apartment isn’t the best building in the neighborhood, but there’s an automated lock on the front door to prevent non-residents from just walking in. He smiles at the man sitting behind the front desk, who nods back at him in response, before pushing the glass door open. Youngjae shuffles in, pulling his hood back and smiling at Yongguk.

“I got sandwiches from that Vietnamese shop over near campus,” Youngjae says, holding up the plastic bag of paper-wrapped sandwiches as they walk back towards the elevators. He waves to the man behind the desk. “And spring rolls and that pandan jelly thing you always like.”

Yongguk glances back at Youngjae with a smile as he presses the button to call the elevator back down. “You really know all my favorites.”

Youngjae rolls his eyes. “We’ve known each other for, like, three years now. It’d be weird not to know what you like, _at least_ , you know?”

“Thanks, Jae. I’ll buy you dinner sometime,” Yongguk says, and does he know that could hold a double meaning? Yes. Does he ignore the faint pink that dusts Youngjae’s cheeks shortly afterwards? Also yes. The elevators open and Yongguk and Youngjae step through.

As the door slides closed, Yongguk leans against the wall, his mind wandering back to Himchan. There’s no doubt in his mind that Himchan died in the Gwangju Uprising. It narrows his search, but there are still university rosters to search through, and Yongguk doesn’t even know what Himchan looked like. He only knows Himchan’s voice, and he doubts there are recordings of Himchan just…laying around in some university’s archives.

“Hyung?”

Yongguk blinks, and suddenly Youngjae comes into focus. He looks a little worried, but maybe his brows are furrowed in curiosity instead. “Sorry. Did you say something?”

“Are you doing alright?” Youngjae asks, tilting his head. “You aren’t overworking yourself, are you?”

Yongguk waves his hand and shakes his head with a laugh. “No, it’s not that. I was just thinking about the radio.”

Youngjae’s eyes light up. “Oh yeah, the one you bought last week, right? Did you manage to get it to work?”

Yongguk shrugs. He doesn’t know if he should tell Youngjae about Himchan. Youngjae might not even believe him. Yongguk still barely believes it himself. “No… I don’t know what’s wrong with it, but all I’m getting is static.”

The elevator doors open and they walk out. Youngjae hums as they walk down the hall. “That’s too bad. Are you going to take it somewhere to get it repaired?”

“Probably not. I don’t think I want to pay more to repair it than I actually paid for it,” Yongguk replies, inserting his key into the lock. “You know?”

Youngjae hums. “Yeah, okay, true. It’d make a good decoration, though. If you don’t wanna return it, that is.”

Youngjae places the bag of food on the tiny dining table and picks up the radio. Yongguk doesn’t know why he’s surprised to see it still there. It’s not like Himchan can suddenly throw the one physical thing he’s occupying out a window. It still feels like he’s in a dream. Youngjae turns up the volume, and Yongguk is relieved when Himchan stays quiet. He turns the tuning dial and gets static.

“That’s weird,” Youngjae mutters. “You get static everywhere but––“ He stops at Himchan’s station. “––here. And even then, it’s just complete silence. That’s…kinda weird.”

Yongguk sits at the table, unpacking the food from the bag. “Yeah… I don’t know why either. Come on and eat.”

Youngjae joins him at the table, still holding onto the radio. “It’s cute, though. Shame it doesn’t work.” He unwraps his sandwich and begins eating. “So, I was wondering.”

“Hmm?” Yongguk looks up at Youngjae, and he sees uncertainty flicker across Youngjae’s face. He gets a little worried because Youngjae isn’t usually one to show his feelings so easily.

“I have to write a report on an exhibit at the Museum of Photography. They do free admission every second Saturday of the month. Wanna come with me?” Youngjae asks. He picks out the cilantro in his sandwich and sets it aside. He’s avoiding Yongguk’s eyes. This is a different side of Youngjae that Yongguk has seen maybe once before, and he can’t help but smile because _god, that’s cute_. “It’s a little weird just going by myself.”

“Yeah, sure,” Yongguk says. He can’t remember the last time he went to a museum.

Youngjae looks up with a grin. “Great! Wanna meet at the station at…11 this Saturday?”

Yongguk nods, and Youngjae’s grin seems to widen. He finishes picking out the pieces of cilantro from his sandwich and begins eating.

When Youngjae leaves, he reminds Yongguk of this Saturday before leaving. Yongguk walks him out of the building and sees him off, waving as he turns a corner. He trudges back up to his apartment with a sigh. It’s getting late. He’s tired. He feels like an old man. He’s felt like an old man since he started working towards his master’s degree.

He kicks his door closed and yawns. He’s going to work a bit and then sleep. He actually can’t wait for that moment when his head meets the pillow.

“You know, I think this ‘Jae’ guy actually likes you. He _invited_ you to the museum this Saturday? That’s a _date_ if I’ve ever heard it,” Himchan suddenly says.

“Jesus,” Yongguk mutters. He forgot Youngjae turned the volume up earlier. He must not have turned it back. “You scared me.”

“I’m _just_ saying, you know?” Himchan continues like Yongguk hadn’t said anything. “This guy sounds like he likes you, and you’re just pushing him away.”

Yongguk begins cleaning up the table. He doesn’t appreciate being analyzed by a dead man. Especially by a man who died younger than Yongguk is now.“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Himchan snorts. “Don’t play dumb. You know what you’re doing to this poor guy, and you’re keeping him at arm’s length. You should tell him that you’re not gay if––“

Yongguk slams his hands on the dining table, the entire thing shaking as he takes deep breaths. “Look, I only agreed to help you. We’re _not_ friends, and as soon as we find out why you’re stuck here, you’re moving on, alright? I don’t need you analyzing my life when we barely know each other.”

Himchan is quiet for a moment before replying with a “I’m just saying.”

Yongguk rubs his temples with a groan. Who is this guy to assume his sexuality? This is going to be a long search, he can tell.

//

“Do you remember what college you went to?” Yongguk asks a couple days later. His hands hover above his keyboard. He has to start somewhere, and _dying in 1980_ isn’t exactly the best one.

“Korea University?” Himchan says, but the lifted tone at the end makes him sound unsure.

Yongguk stares at the radio, and he knows Himchan can’t see him, but he hopes the silence he responds with is unimpressed enough.

“Listen, I’ve been stuck in here for _forty_ years. Give me a break,” Himchan says.

“Alright, fine.” Yongguk begins typing _Kim Himchan Korea University 1980_ into the search bar. Not many results come up. He scrolls through them, but a lot are the university’s homepage, how to declare a major, how to register for Korea University, how to contact your advisor within your major.

Nothing specifically about Kim Himchan.

“What’s that clacking sound?” Himchan suddenly asks. “It’s…a little weird.”

Yongguk stares at the radio, his hands stopping to rest on the keys. Clacking? Does he mean…the keyboard? “My… My laptop?”

“A _laptop?”_ Himchan asks.

Yongguk blinks. “Uh… It’s a… A thin computer? That fits on your lap. And it’s portable.”

Himchan is silent, and Yongguk thinks for one terrified and relieving moment that Himchan is somehow gone, but then he suddenly exclaims, “What?! That exists now?!”

The tiny speaker nearly blows out, and Yongguk winces. “Yeah?” He quickly searches a timeline of computers, which he realizes were definitely invented but weren’t commonly used worldwide until the late 80s. And that’s just the personal home computer. Himchan’s perception of a _computer_ is vastly different from Yongguk’s.

“What does it look like?” Himchan asks. He sounds completely fascinated by the idea of a _portable_ computer.

Yongguk takes a deep breath, staring at his laptop. How does he describe what a _laptop_ looks like to someone who barely even knows what a modern computer looks like? Youngjae would probably be better at explaining this, but then again, would he have the patience to explain in the first place?

“It’s… Okay, it’s a keyboard with the monitor already attached? But the monitor is just a screen… That can open and close? Kinda the size of a manila folder when it’s closed? Depends on the model, though. Weighs about…” Yongguk lifts his own laptop up, trying to remember what his laptop weighs. “Two to six pounds, I guess? Also depending on the model.”

“Oh my god, you’re serious,” Himchan says. He takes a deep breath. “So, then what’s… What’s life like in Korea now?”

That’s a really vague question that can be answered so many different ways. Yongguk leans back in his chair, crossing his arms above his chest with a sigh. “Where do you want me to start?”

“Music? Social life? Definitely technology? What do people like us do now?” Himchan asks, his questions like rapid-fire.

So Yongguk begins describing his everyday life. He talks about the popular groups in music right now, which leads to a discussion about the concept of boy and girl groups. Then he explains social media and its impact on the world, both negative and positive aspects, which leads into the emergence of the internet with the worldwide use of the personal computer.

“So you mean… You can just… Talk to people… Without calling them,” Himchan says. He hums, thoughtful. “Instant messaging… How innovative.”

“Yeah… With a good connection, you can talk to virtually anyone on the planet through the same app,” Yongguk replies.

“How about the government? It doesn’t _sound_ like Korea’s still under a dictatorship,” Himchan eventually asks after a moment of silence.

“Because we’re not? We have a president that we elect every five years.” Yongguk decides to give Himchan a quick summary on what happened after the Gwangju Uprising. Once he’s done explaining everything, he takes a deep breath, waiting for Himchan’s response. “Sorry, I know it’s a lot to take in.”

“No, no, that’s fine, I’m relieved everything is going…better than when I was alive,” Himchan says, but he sounds more unsure than relieved. “But…”

“But?” Yongguk echoes, waiting for Himchan to continue. What exactly is Himchan getting at?

“But… Why am I still here? I thought…my soul would still be here if there was still a dictator for a leader, but there’s a president, viable checks and balances, a generally represented population… That should have been my unfinished business, right? So, why am I _still_ stuck here?” Himchan asks. He lets out a huff of frustration. “And I don’t have a murderer…Because, well, I’m pretty sure the military murdered me.”

Yongguk never thought of that. What’s keeping Himchan here if not the existence of a past dictator? He blinks, narrowing his eyes at the radio, like Himchan would be able to see. “Wait, if we were still under a dictatorship, would you have made me _overthrow_ the government?”

“If it meant my soul moving on, then yes,” Himchan replies without missing a beat.

“Oh my god. I would’ve died,” Yongguk groans at the possibility. As fun and adventurous as that sounds, he doesn’t think he’s cut out for that kind of work. He never saw himself as the type to lead a revolution through the streets, let alone _overthrow_ a _national leader_.

“Come on, think of it like this. You’d be sacrificing yourself for the betterment of society,” Himchan says. “You’d be hailed as a martyr. Worshipped like a war hero. You’d be––“

“Dead,” Yongguk interrupts before Himchan can keep going.

“Hmph. Selfish.”

“If there _was_ a dictatorship still, I’d do something to _contribute_ ,” Yongguk says. “I just… Have _you_ tried starting a revolution?”

“Sure. Like it’s hard?” Himchan asks, almost mocking, and Yongguk doesn’t know if he should be offended.

“ _Anyway_ ,” Yongguk says, eager to change the subject because he doesn’t want to hear it, “if your unfinished business doesn’t lie with your involvement in criticizing the government, nor does it lie with your murderer, what else would be keeping you here?”

Himchan sighs, almost resigned. “If I knew, I’d have told you already.”

Yongguk hums. He scratches his head. “Do you know where you were buried?” Before Himchan can even answer, he follows with a quick, “Wait, no, don’t answer that. You probably don’t know that, do you?”

“Correct,” Himchan replies. He groans, and the static surrounding his voice spikes in volume before settling back down. “I… I barely remember how I died.”

And Yongguk tries to put himself in Himchan’s situation. Dead. Trapped in a radio. Mild amnesia. Talking to someone from a future barely imaginable in his time. Yongguk feels a pang of sympathy shoot through him.

“Well, I’m free until this evening, so… Why don’t we visit your old university?” Yongguk asks. Himchan’s radio is probably small enough to not be noticeable in his pocket. He picks it up, examining the sides. “Hmm. Your radio has an earphone jack. I can talk to you in public without looking crazy. How convenient.”

“You know I paid _extra_ for that earphone jack,” Himchan says, almost proud.

Yongguk hums as he stands up to get changed. “I bet you did.”

//

The practice room on the fifth floor of the fine arts building––the one by the corner furthest from the elevators, the one that gets all the sunlight in the late afternoon––is Himchan’s favorite room. This is where he likes to go when his life seems to be spiraling out of his control, and this year has been one fuck-up after another. He places his case on the extra chair sat beside the piano and removes the daegeum from the foam encasing. He rubs the smooth bamboo with his thumbs and sighs, almost content.

Himchan lays his sheet music out on the stand and takes a deep breath as he gets set up. It’s muscle memory at this point, and within minutes he’s sitting in the chair with the stand in front of him, his daegeum propped in his hands nestled against his shoulder.

Playing the daegeum brings out a sense of peace within Himchan that he doesn’t think he can find anywhere else. If the janggu is for working out his frustrations, the daegeum is for the days when he just wants some peace and quiet.

//

Yongguk walks into the campus of Korea University clutching the strap of his messenger bag as he looks around at the newly renovated buildings. He walks past a touring group of parents with their teenagers, then other students just making their way to and from classes. It’s not as hectic as Yongguk expected it to be.

“I don’t even know where to start,” Yongguk says, scratching his head.

“Well… I think I was a… Political science major?” Himchan ends the sentence as a question like he isn’t even sure of the answer himself.

Yongguk frowns because that _still_ doesn’t give him a lot to work with. He passes by what looks like every fine arts department crammed into one building. A colorful mural sprawls along the wall facing him. A group of people practice dancing on the grassy lawn out front. A young woman carrying a large black portfolio case shuffles past Yongguk and into the building, her hands covered in faded multicolored streaks of paint.

“Wait, do you hear that?” Himchan asks, and Yongguk swears he feels someone touch his shoulder and yank him back. “Stop, stop, can you _hear_ that?”

Yongguk spins around, expecting someone to be behind him, but he finds no one even close enough to do that. He tries to ignore the glances he gets from the people passing by him.

“Hear what?” Yongguk asks, his voice going lower as he grows more self-conscious. He takes one bud out of his ear to hear better, and sure enough, he can hear the faint melody of a…flute? No, not a flute. Something else.

“The daegeum!” Himchan exclaims, his voice nearly blowing out Yongguk’s ear. “It’s coming from the fine arts building!”

Yongguk looks back at the building, eyebrows furrowing. “How would you even hear––“

“Go inside! Go to the fifth floor!” Himchan insists, only growing louder. “That’s where the daegeum is playing!”

Yongguk eventually walks into the building, trying his best to look like he actually attends classes here. The interior looks like it hasn’t been touched since the 80’s. The tile is rusted and water-damaged in some places, and the wallpaper flakes in several corners, no doubt glued back to the wall on numerous occasions within the last couple decades. The sunlight slanting in from the windows only emphasizes what needs to be fixed.

Yongguk takes a moment to consider the fact that Himchan’s probably walked these same halls when he was alive.

“I used to play the daegeum,” Himchan says, slow and almost surprised like he’s just now remembering that fact. “Yongguk, I played _instruments_.”

Yongguk hums in acknowledgement, too busy trying to find the elevator to think up a more reasonable response.

“I could sight read,” Himchan continues, growing increasingly amazed at the skills he’d acquired when he was alive. “Oh my _god_ , I had perfect pitch. I _still_ have perfect pitch.”

“That’s nice,” Yongguk says. He rounds the corner, almost crying out when he finally finds the elevator. “You said the fifth floor, right?”

“Yeah. I… I used to practice there,” Himchan says, his voice dropping to a whisper. “The fifth floor. The room…furthest from the elevators. The one that gets all the sun in the late afternoons.”

Yongguk steps into the elevator, leaning against the wall as the elevator climbs towards the fifth floor. He’s relieved to be alone for even just these ten seconds. “Are you sure you weren’t a music major?”

Himchan is quiet for a moment before replying. “I’m _sure_ I was a political science major.”

Yongguk hums again, this time because he doesn’t know how else to respond.

“I think… I think the music was more of a hobby… My parents… They were…” Himchan doesn’t finish, but Yongguk thinks he can hear labored breathing on Himchan’s end, slowly growing more panicked.

“Okay. Take a deep breath. Don’t think too hard about it.” Yongguk doesn’t know what he’d do if Himchan broke down right now.

Himchan does stop. He draws in a deep breath, then exhales, his rush of breath a crackling sound of feedback like he’s sighing into an old microphone. “Okay. Okay. Sorry. I’m good.”

“It’s okay,” Yongguk replies, watching the screen at the top of the doors blink from _4_ to _5_.

The elevator dings and the doors slide open. The daegeum can be heard more clearly now, the soft pitch and airy vibrato echoing down the halls seemingly calling out to him. If not for the phone in his pocket, he might have thought he was transported back in time.

“What room did you say?” Yongguk asks.

“From the elevator, go left. It’s at the end of the hall,” Himchan replies.

And Yongguk turns left because he doubts these walls have changed since Himchan was here. His footsteps land quietly on the slightly discolored tile, and he can hear the daegeum’s song grow a little louder with each step he takes. He swears he can feel Himchan’s anticipation emanating from the radio in his pocket, but maybe he’s mistaking it for his own. Though, he doesn’t know why he’d be feeling that way without good reason.

Yongguk finds the source of the daegeum’s song, and it’s not at the end of the hall like Himchan thought. He stops just outside a small classroom where a group of students sit around an old TV setup with a VHS player strapped to the cart. They stare at the TV with awe and reverence like they’re witnessing a god in action.

One of the students, a young woman, not much older than Yongguk seems to notice him standing by the door and smiles. She talks to the man sitting beside her and stands up, circling behind the TV, and approaches Yongguk. He blinks, freezing in place. He can’t walk away now that he’s been noticed. What’s he supposed to say when she inevitably asks him why he’s here?

“Hi, are you here for the traditional music club?” she asks, tilting her head and smiling up at Yongguk.

“Oh… I’m just, uh…” Yongguk scrambles to think of something to say. “I heard the daegeum…and I was just curious. I, uh, didn’t know this was a club.”

The woman lights up. “Oh yeah. We’re reviewing performances of previous alumni for our upcoming recital. Would you like to come in and watch?”

Yongguk blinks, craning his head above her to look inside, but from where he stands, he can’t see who’s performing very well. “Um…”

“Do it,” Himchan says with an authority that doesn’t give Yongguk much room to resist. “I need to hear it clearer. Maybe I’ll remember something.”

Yongguk smiles. “Sure, if it’s not too much trouble.”

The woman’s smile widens as she steps aside to let Yongguk in. “Great! I’m Jieun, by the way.”

“Yongguk.” He bows his head in greeting to the students as they all turn to look at him. Jieun returns to her own seat as he takes the seat closest to the door because this is just too awkward for him to bear, but he reminds himself he’s doing this for Himchan.

The performer on the screen is a young man dressed in a traditional hanbok, the silk shining and vibrant under the spotlight. He sits on a cushion in the middle of the stage, swaying with the music, his eyes closed, as he loses himself in the beatless melody he plays. Even with the crackling audio and static video, Yongguk can tell there’s something inexplicably peaceful about his entire being. The song eventually comes to an end, and as the classroom fills with a wavering silence, the man opens his eyes.

Yongguk is immediately taken aback by how cold and distant his gaze is, so unlike the performance he just gave.

Jieun grabs the remote and pauses, and someone stands up to get the lights. She stands in front of the TV, a solemn look crossing her face. “And that was Kim Himchan-sunbaenim in his last performance before he was killed in the Gwangju Uprising.”

Yongguk has to suppress a gasp. Behind Jieun, he stares at the man on the screen–– _Kim Himchan_ ––and into his eyes. He can’t stop himself from studying Himchan’s face, his sharp fox-like features softened by the mass of thick hair atop his head.

“That’s _me?!”_ Himchan exclaims, and Yongguk rushes to lower the volume of the radio before anyone else can hear.

Some people close by glance at him, and he sinks a little further in his seat.

“His performances were rare, but highly regarded by the community,” Jieun continues. She wipes a fake tear from her cheek, sniffling. “His music will live on forever in our VHS tapes, but it’s a shame his life was taken so early.”

Everyone else nods in silent agreement.

“Damn, I actually sounded pretty good,” Himchan says, sounding honestly surprised. “My parents can suck my dead dick. My legacy lives on with these children.”

Yongguk covers his mouth with his hand as inconspicuously as possible to hide his amused smile.

//

“So, you really were a traditional musician,” Yongguk says as he leaves the building. It’d been a feat to try to leave the club, but he told himself he’d never see them again, so he smiled, bowed apologetically, and darted out of the classroom as quickly as he could.

“Hmph. I can’t believe you doubted me,” Himchan huffs.

“You were just as surprised when you got the confirmation, don’t lie,” Yongguk replies.

Himchan scoffs, but he doesn’t say anything else after that.

Yongguk walks back out, squinting into the bright sunlight. He stares out into the campus, wondering how he can keep finding clues about Himchan on such a large campus. He doesn’t know how else to look besides having Himchan listen to his surroundings, but that can only get them so far here. They lucked out with that club.

“I wonder how much has changed,” Himchan suddenly says. “I don’t know if I’d even recognize it if I saw it now.”

Yongguk catches the nostalgia in Himchan’s voice. “Well… How about I walk around campus… And you tell me if you hear something that jogs your memory.”

“Sure.”

So Yongguk walks around campus, blending into the groups of students that flood the main paths and following them until they thin out and break off into their separate ways. He finds himself in what looks like the main quad, lined with tall trees and old stone benches. Students lay in the grass, some reading books, others tossing a frisbee between each other. He catches a few people napping under the shade of the trees. A soft breeze blows past, rustling the leaves of the trees. Sunlight speckles on the grass, spots of light giving the whole quad a gentle glow.

It reminds Yongguk of when he first came to college. It’s a sort of community peace that he doesn’t think he can experience anywhere else––at least not like this.

“Where are we now?” Himchan asks.

“A quad?” Yongguk says, still a little unsure about where he is. He finds a plaque nearby and reads it. “Says here it was dedicated to Lee Sungyeol in 1959?”

Himchan hums in realization. “Oh. I know where you are. To your right is a science building. Chemistry or something like that.”

Yongguk turns and, sure enough, he sees an old brick building dedicated to chemistry, but attached to its right is a bigger, more modern-looking building. It’s about three floors higher with sleek glass walls. “You got it right.”

“Wow.” Himchan sounds genuinely impressed. “I guess some things haven’t changed.”

Yongguk continues walking. He thinks back to the buildings he’s passed, both old and new, and just how different they look from one another, mashed together like a crude sedimentary rock. “Yeah. You’d be surprised.”

Yongguk wanders the campus for the next hour with Himchan asking an occasional question. It’s a big campus, and Yongguk can’t possibly cover every single square foot in a day.

“We should stop. I’m not getting anything,” Himchan says with a sigh. “We should just go back.”

“Are you sure?” Yongguk asks. As nice as the campus is, his feet are getting a little sore from walking so much.

“Yeah. Let’s just go.” Himchan sighs again. “Thanks, though.”

Yongguk hums, trying to find his way out and back into a main street. He passes by a building that looks like it’s toeing the line between functional and just barely passing safety regulations. Yongguk circles around to the front of the building, and frowns when he reads the name of it.

_Radio Station_

The letters are falling off, but Yongguk picks up the meaning. It’s a tiny brick building out of the way of any main paths with an even tinier parking lot where a couple cars are parked. The building itself is almost completely obscured by the trees and brush growing around it. He stares between the parking lot and the building.

All this money and prestige, but none of it has gone into this tiny building? Even the radio station at Yongguk’s university is better than…this.

“Hey, Himchan,” Yongguk says.

Himchan hums. “What is it?”

“Do you remember anything about a radio station while you were here?” Yongguk asks. He’s tempted to walk in, but he doesn’t know if he’s ready for the emotional turmoil he’ll have to face if he sees the inside.

“Do I…remember…a radio station?” Himchan asks in response. The breath he exhales crackles with static. “I don’t–– Oh my god.”

“What?” Yongguk asks.

Himchan laughs, and then seems to snap hiss fingers. “I used to work at the radio station! Really small building, but it was one of the nicer ones on campus, even if it was already about twenty years old by the time I worked there. _Completely_ student-run, too.”

Yongguk doesn’t know how to tell Himchan that the radio station is no longer one of the nicer buildings on campus. “I’m standing in front of it now. It…probably looks the same as it was before.”

“Yongguk, I used to host a show.” Himchan laughs again, a little more hysterical this time. “I… I’d play the music that was banned by the government.” He takes a deep breath. “Fuck, I wouldn’t be surprised if someone shot me dead in the booth.”

Yongguk takes a staggering step towards the radio station. “Should we… Do you wanna check it out?”

“Do we still have time?” Himchan asks.

“Yeah. I have a couple more hours, don’t worry,” Yongguk replies. He pulls the door open, immediately regrets it. The glass door makes a horrifying screech as it opens, and he tries not to screech back in surprise.

The inside is just as sad as the outside. The lights are a weird bright fluorescent that makes Yongguk’s eyes throb. A vending machine glows in a dim corner where the lights somehow don’t reach, humming low. A few chairs and a bench line the wall beside the vending machine, the worn cushions a dirty mustard color that matches the speckles in the ceiling tile. The tile is water-damaged in some place, but is clean otherwise. The only hallway leading further inside seems ominous under the line of fluorescent lights. A bright red sign hanging above a door at the end of the hall reads _ON-AIR_.

Yongguk begins to walk down the hall, but he stops to look at the photographs hanging along the wall. The earliest is a set of faded polaroids dating back to the 60s. Every photograph has at least a couple students in them––probably previous show hosts through the decades. Some are candid photos, others have the students posing together. In the middle of the hallway, Yongguk finds a photo dating March 13, 1980 with the caption _Kim Himchan and Yang Seungho_.

In the photo stands Kim Himchan with another young man––probably Yang Seungho––smiling and his arm wrapped around the other man’s shoulders. The warmth radiating off Himchan’s smile seems to line up more with the personality he’s gotten to know these past few days. His hair looks much longer and fluffier than it was in the video with a sideswept fringe and feathering out in some places. He looks…happier here.

“Can I help you?”

Yongguk jumps up, pulling one of the earbuds out. He spins around to find an elderly man standing outside one of the offices behind him. “H-hi, sorry. I…was just looking around.”

The man smiles, the wrinkles around his eyes crinkling. “Are you interested in hosting a show?”

Yongguk waves a hand as he quickly thinks up an excuse. “Ah. Um. No. I was… I’m researching the lives of the victims of the Gwangju Uprising. One of the noted people was Kim Himchan? Do you know him?”

The man’s smile falls a little, but he steps aside into the office, beckoning for Yongguk to follow him inside. “You’re in luck, my boy. I was friends with Himchan. We can talk in my office.”

As the old man shuffles to the swivel chair behind the desk, Yongguk takes a seat in the same mustard chair that’s outside. “I don’t think I got your name.”

The man settles in the seat with sigh, folding his hands together atop the desk. “Yang Seungho. I’m the one in the photo with him, actually. And you’re…”

“Bang Yongguk.” Yongguk leans forward, holding his hand out towards Seungho. “It’s nice to meet you, Seungho-sshi.”

Seungho takes Yongguk’s hand, his skin feeling like smooth, worn leather against Yongguk’s palm. “You too. So, what would you like to know?”

“Ask him what I was like,” Himchan says in Yongguk’s ear.

“What was he like?” Yongguk asks, pulling a notebook and pen out of his bag.

Seungho laughs. “He was an asshole is what he was.” Himchan begins grumbling just as Seungho’s smile turns nostalgic. “Just kidding. The government had banned certain songs from being played, among other things, but Himchan would always play those songs whenever he would get inside the booth. He was a good guy, though. He had his head in the right place.”

Yongguk tilts his head. “Do you mind elaborating on that?”

“Just before the Gwangju Uprising, around early May, he began outwardly criticizing the government on his show. He’d been growing more vocal over the year since Chun Doohwan took over. Eventually, he joined the protests in Gwangju.” Seungho takes a deep breath. “I never heard from him after that. Then, his name appeared in a list of victims the week after the protests ended.”

Himchan’s breath hitches, otherwise inaudible if not for the silence that had fallen over the room. “ _Fuck_ , hyung. You poor bastard.”

Yongguk watches Seungho’s expression fall, his gaze cast downward as he mourns Himchan all over again. He makes a split-second decision that, in his mind at that exact moment in time, seems like the only right thing to do.

“Seungho-sshi, I know this might sound weird, but…” Yongguk gulps as Seungho looks up at him. “Would you like to speak with Himchan?”

The look of bewilderment and skepticism that invades Seungho’s features makes Yongguk want to take it all back, but the confused tilt of his head makes Yongguk pull his earbuds out of the jack.

“What are you talking about?” Seungho asks, sitting up and leaning forward.

Yongguk places the radio on the desk, facing the speaker towards Seungho and raising the volume a little higher.

“Hey, hyung,” Himchan says, a little quiet and unsure. “It’s… It’s been a while, hasn’t it? You sound like an old fart.”

Seungho’s mouth drops, and he stares at the radio in silence. Then, he lets out a howl of laughter, a deep laugh that comes right from his stomach.

//

“Himchan-ah, did you read the list of songs I gave you? The list of songs you’re allowed to play on air?”

Himchan blinks. Seungho stands in front of him, his smile fake and _so_ pained. Himchan almost feels bad, but the satisfaction he feels far outweighs it. “Yeah. What about it?”

“Then, you should know that the songs you played on your show clearly _weren’t_ on that list, _right_ , Himchan-ah?” Seungho asks. He leans closer to Himchan, his expression changing from pained to horrified and his eyes growing wider. “You’re going to be the death of me, Kim Himchan, I swear to _god_. You’re lucky your show is so popular. Otherwise, I would have kicked you out by now.”

Himchan shrugs, pushing away from the table and grabbing his things. He knows he should be more grateful to Seungho for giving him the prime time slot for his radio show, but Seungho’s been on his ass lately about playing the government-made _healthy songs_ because he doesn’t have a _spine_ anymore apparently. “Maybe because I play the songs people actually _enjoy_ , hyung.”

Seungho begins following Himchan out of the broadcasting room and into the main hall, waving his hands frantically. “You’re playing _rock_ music through our _public campus_ station. The list I made keeps us _safe_. What’ll we do if the police tunes in?”

“We’ll cross that bridge when we get there now, won’t we?” Himchan shrugs again. “Besides, don’t act like I haven’t seen you enjoying my music either.” Seungho splutters in response, and Himchan laughs. He walks out of the station, waving at Seungho. “See you next week!”

“I’ll drop your show from our schedule!” Seungho exclaims.

He won’t. It’s an empty threat he’s made plenty of times before. Himchan’s show has too many listeners for Seungho to drop it.

//

“Thanks for letting me talk to him,” Himchan says as Yongguk walks along the main road back to the subway station. “I know I was an ass to him, but I still cared about him, you know?”

Yongguk can’t help the smile that forms on his face. “I’m glad you two were able to get some closure.”

“I hope he’s at peace.”

Yongguk laughs. “Ironic, considering you’re the one haunting me.” He frowns when several people glance in his direction, and he walks faster down the street, looking down to avoid making unwanted eye contact.

“Whatever, thanks for helping me, I guess,” Himchan says, laughing with Yongguk. “Where are we headed to now?”

“Funny enough,” Yongguk says, playing with the strap of his bag, “I have my own radio show to get ready for.”

Himchan lets out an incredulous sound, an odd cross between a laugh and a yelp. “No way! No _fucking_ way! Maybe you _were_ meant to find my radio.”

Yongguk hums as he steps down into the subway. “I guess so. It’s…definitely weird.”

Yongguk hears Himchan ramble on about radio hosting, but he doesn’t fully listen to what he’s saying. He imagines Himchan talking to him like he’s on the other end of a phone call, laughing and talking to him like they’re friends. He can’t stop thinking about Himchan’s warm smile in the photo and his cold gaze in the video. Something happened between those times.

“Hey, I asked you a question,” Himchan says, pulling Yongguk back to reality. “Are you listening to me?”

Yongguk blinks. He’s already on the train. “Sorry, what is it?”

“I should be older than you, right?” Himchan asks.

“You’re twenty-one, right?” Yongguk replies. “I’m twenty-three. So, no, I don’t think so.”

Himchan tsks in apparent disapproval. “Okay, but I was still born before you. You should be talking to me a little more formally, don’t you think?”

Yongguk opens his mouth to reply, but he stops as he works through the technicalities in his brain. He snaps his mouth shut and looks down at his pocket, as if Himchan would somehow feel him staring. “Does it count if you’re––“ He stops himself, glancing around the train. “You know.”

Himchan makes a choking sort of gasping sound before he speaks. “I was still born before you! At least call me hyung!”

“Okay, Himchan-sshi,” Yongguk says. He thinks Himchan has stopped aging when he died. He’s still younger even if he was _technically_ born earlier.

Himchan grumbles something under his breath that’s covered mostly by the static, but then he says, “Fine, whatever, just call me Himchan, then.”

“Okay, Himchan-sshi,” Yongguk says again.

“Oh, so you’re a brat.”

Yongguk smiles despite himself. “And you’re acting like an old man.”

//

Himchan turns to Daehyun with a raised eyebrow. “Are you taking photos of me again?”

Daehyun lowers the camera with a grin, winding the film to advance to the next shot. “Maybe. It’s not my fault you’re a fascinating subject.”

Himchan rolls his eyes, leaning back against his elbows on the grass, and he hears the camera shutter again. He pushes Daehyun’s shoulder as Daehyun laughs. “Jung Daehyun, if you don’t stop––“

“Your face is too pretty to not be captured on film, hyung,” Daehyun says as he winds the film again.

This isn’t the first time Daehyun has flirted with Himchan. This isn’t the first time Daehyun has flirted with another man even. He flirts––a lot––indiscriminately and maybe even a little more than other men his age, and it took Himchan a while to get used to that. He’s just…not used to other men flirting with him, but Daehyun is handsome and bubbly where Himchan is panicking in the closet behind a well-timed joke and loud laugh. He’d rather have people laugh at him than find the skeleton in his closet.

Which, coincidentally, is what he’ll become if he plans to live the rest of his miserable life like this.

Himchan quickly gathers himself, hoping the brush of warmth sweeping across his cheeks isn’t noticeable in the speckled shade cast by the trees above them. “If you think your flattery will get me to buy you dinner, you’re wrong.”

Daehyun laughs, loud and brash, a little like him. He stops when he sees that Himchan isn’t laughing with him. “Wait, really? Not even if I seduce you with a mixtape of all your favorite songs?”

“All my favorite songs were banned, so good luck trying to get dinner out of me,” Himchan replies.

“Okay, but. Hyung. Seriously,” Daehyun says, laying down on the grass facing Himchan, his camera nestled between them. They lay like that for a couple moments in silence, and Himchan is tempted to turn to look, but Daehyun’s gaze is warm against the side of his neck, and he doesn’t know if he’d be able to handle it if he faced it head-on. Then Daehyun sighs, turning onto his back, his hands behind his head. “There’s this really nice girl in my ethics class, Junghee. How about I set you up on a date with her? Are you free this weekend?”

Himchan turns to Daehyun, keeping his expression carefully neutral. “No. I’m good, thanks. I’m busy with work.”

Daehyun groans, kicking his legs out before dropping them flat on the ground like a toddler throwing a tantrum. “Hyung, you _always_ do this! I’m just trying to set you up with a nice girl.”

“Appreciated, but I’m not interested,” Himchan says.

Daehyun goes uncharacteristically silent, and Himchan’s curiosity gets the best of him. He looks at Daehyun, confused by the pensive look on Daehyun’s face.

“What?” Himchan asks.

“Not interested in dating or in girls?” Daehyun asks, his voice dropping lower.

Himchan is already getting up, the straps of his backpack held tightly in his hands, his pulse threatening to choke him out from hard his heart is pounding. “I should go.”

Daehyun is already backpedaling, his hand going up to tug Himchan back. “Wait, hyung, I didn’t mean–– It’s okay if you–– I–– Fuck, hyung, it was just a _joke_.”

And Himchan knows Daehyun and the jokes he makes are meant to harmless, but he’s never made a joke _that_ close before, and Himchan is panicking despite himself.

//

Yongguk swipes his fringe to the side one last time, then settles for running his hands through his hair. The strands fall into place naturally, and he nods in approval. He glances at his phone for the time––10:13 AM––nods again. He has time for a quick breakfast.

“Are you getting ready for your _date?”_ Himchan asks.

Yongguk glances at his desk where he placed Himchan’s radio. He can feel Himchan judging him, and they can’t even see each other. “It’s not a date.”

“You should tell him something soon,” Himchan says, and Yongguk doesn’t want to blow up like he did the other day. It’s just that Himchan is getting annoyingly persistent about this. “He’s just floating around in…love limbo while he waits for you to do _anything_ in response to his advances.”

Yongguk rolls his eyes as he heads into the kitchen. Once again, he doesn’t need a dead man telling him what to do. He pours himself a cup of coffee. “You sound like you’ve done this before.”

“I have, thank you for asking,” Himchan spits, and Yongguk prepares himself for a lengthy explanation, but Himchan just continues with a quieter “You have to give him an answer eventually.”

Yongguk hums as he sips his coffee. He just doesn’t like confronting his emotions. Not unless he has to. And he knows he eventually has to if he wants to give Youngjae an honest answer.

“I will,” Yongguk concedes.

There’s a moment of silence, and Yongguk imagines Himchan nodding to himself, then Himchan says, “Good, good. Now, let’s talk about you bringing me with you.”

Yongguk chokes on his coffee, spilling his mouthful back into his mug. “What? Why do you want to come?”

“I need to be exposed to the New World, Yongguk. So, am I coming or not?” Himchan asks.

Yongguk sighs, wiping his mouth with a napkin. “Alright, fine, but I’m turning your volume down.”

“I can’t talk to you?”

Yongguk ignores the way Himchan’s voice drops a bit in disappointment. “No. I can’t have my earbuds in when I’m with Youngjae. That’d be rude.”

Himchan snickers. “Oh, right, because of the date. Got it. I won’t interrupt you two. Promise.”

Yongguk sighs and stuffs Himchan’s radio into his jacket pocket. “Just. Whatever. Fine.”

The train ride to the Museum of Photography in Songpa-gu is about an hour from the station closest to Yongguk’s apartment. By the time Yongguk and Youngjae make it to the museum, it’s noon and the museum is packed with mostly tourists, all of them no doubt taking advantage of the free admission. The woman at the front desk talks to people and hands out pamphlets and passes. Several halls branch out beside and behind the desk with a staircase leading up to the second floor.

Youngjae approaches the front desk, talking to the woman. She smiles, probably telling him the script about the exhibits, before handing him two passes and pamphlets. He turns back to Yongguk with a grin as he holds up the pamphlets in his hand.

“The new exhibit is just down here,” Youngjae says, pointing to the entryway on the wall behind the front desk. He opens up the pamphlet, reading the small blurb beside a professional photograph of a man in his mid-60’s. “ _1980_. Photographed by Jung Daehyun.”

“Is that the guy you have write a report about?” Yongguk asks as he follows Youngjae into the exhibit.

“Yeah. I have to pick a photo and write about what sort of feelings it evokes in me,” Youngjae replies with a sigh. “I’m not good at writing stuff like that. I don’t like how I can never get a straight answer in anything. It’s always ’state your opinion and support why you think that way in a three-page essay’. I don’t have the _time_ for that.”

Yongguk smiles, looking at the small framed photos lining the walls like a path. “What class is this for?”

“Intro to photo,” Youngjae grumbles. “I knew I should’ve taken the painting class instead.”

Yongguk nudges Youngjae as they enter the hushed exhibit room. “You would have complained either way.”

Youngjae begins to say something, but Yongguk doesn’t hear it because his blood suddenly rushing in his ears is completely deafening. The first photo to greet them at the exhibit, blown up to reach at least up to ten feet, is a black and white photo of _Himchan_. He lays on a grassy field, his elbows propping him up with his head turned halfway to the camera, seemingly caught in the middle of a laugh. His entire body is haloed in light like he’s an ethereal being. The warm display light shining down on the photo gives the whole exhibit a soft sepia-toned glow.

“Hyung?” Youngjae asks, placing a gentle hand on Yongguk’s arm. “Are you okay? You look a little pale.”

Yongguk clears his throat and smiles at Youngjae. “Yeah. Yeah. I’m good.” He nods to the rest of the exhibit. “Let’s go?”

They walk around the room, pausing at each photo for a couple moments before moving onto the next. Yongguk counts seven more photos of Himchan in the exhibit. The first one was of Himchan drinking from a cup of instant ramen with one hand and sticking his middle finger up with his other hand. Another one shows him on that same grassy field, looking up at the sky. The rest are all various candids of him laughing, frowning, expressing emotions otherwise not shown if not for this Jung Daehyun documenting his life.

The last photo of Himchan is at the end of the room, smaller than any other photo in the exhibit. Himchan stands at the head of a group of other students, their faces twisted in anger in front of a line of police officers. The placard beside it just reads _Gwangju, May_.

 _“Have you tried starting a revolution?”_ Yongguk had asked, incredulous and disbelieving.

 _“Sure, like it’s hard?”_ Himchan replied like he’d actually done it.

And he did.

Yongguk doesn’t know how he feels when he sees Himchan at the head of this protest, the focal point of this exhibit, leading a revolution through the streets. He does know one thing. He has to find this Jung Daehyun and talk to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> how many times did i have to remind myself that himchan is in the 80s and absolutely does not have a smartphone? too many


	3. incoming transmission: heart of gold

“Hyung?” Youngjae asks, coming up beside Yongguk. He turns to look at the photograph on the wall, his eyes growing wide. “Whoa. I think I’m gonna write about this one.”

Yongguk hums, blinking. He takes a step away from the photograph, suddenly feeling every nerve in him ignite at the sight of Himchan displaying such raw emotion. “I… Sorry, I have to use the bathroom real quick.”

Youngjae looks at Yongguk, tilting his head, but if he senses anything off about Yongguk, he doesn’t say anything. “Okay. I’ll be here.”

Yongguk rushes off to find a bathroom. He has to talk to Himchan about this in private. He feels a little bad for leaving Youngjae so suddenly, but it’ll only take a couple minutes. He bursts into the bathroom, checking that it’s completely empty, and plugs his earbuds into Himchan’s radio.

“Did you know a Jung Daehyun?” Yongguk asks, fiddling with the volume.

“Hello, good afternoon to you, too,” Himchan replies, sounding a little more irritated than he normally is.

“Did you know a Jung Daehyun?” Yongguk asks again, slower and more insistent. He paces the length of the bathroom just in front of the sinks, the radio trembling in his hand.

Himchan hums, the static blending seamlessly with his voice. “Um. I guess? The name sounds familiar.”

Yongguk groans. If only he could just _show_ Himchan the photos, but there isn’t much he can do with Himchan blind and stuck in the radio.

“Himchan, you _have_ to remember. He must have been your friend,” Yongguk says, and he doesn’t know why he’s being so insistent on this when he knows he can only do so much with Himchan like this, but… It’s the only lead he has right now.

“How did you even find out about this Daehyun guy?” Himchan asks, his voice dropping lower in suspicion.

Yongguk sighs, not willing to explain the whole thing because Youngjae will begin to wonder where he is soon, so he tries his best to shorten the explanation. “He has an exhibit here in the museum, and you’re in a lot of the photos. There’s one where you’re…in Gwangju.”

Himchan is silent for a moment.

“Himchan?” Yongguk tries, his pace faltering as he stops.

“Damn, I really wish I could see that exhibit now,” Himchan says, bitter, but…almost nostalgic. “That motherfucker better have taken some good shots of me.”

Yongguk tenses and frowns. “You just said you don’t remember him.”

“I…don’t. I can’t remember _anyone_ named Jung Daehyun… But it just…slipped out,” Himchan replies, sounding just as surprised as Yongguk feels. “What do you think it means?”

“You had to have known him,” Yongguk replies. He sighs. “Sorry, I’ll have to talk to you about it later. I have to get back to Youngjae.”

Himchan hums in response. “Yeah. Okay. I’ll…try to remember more about this Daehyun guy.”

Yongguk unplugs his earbuds and walks out of the bathroom. He finds Youngjae still in the exhibit, admiring the other photos. Yongguk stops beside Youngjae, who turns to him with a small smile in greeting.

“You can really tell how much the photographer cared about this guy,” Youngjae says, and Yongguk thinks he hears admiration in Youngjae’s voice. “It’s… I don’t know how to say it exactly. It’s…interesting.”

Yongguk hums. He thinks about what Himchan was probably like when he was still alive.

“Hyung?” Youngjae asks, placing a careful hand at Yongguk’s elbow.

Yongguk looks over at Youngjae, surprised to find his face twisted in worry. “Yeah? Is something wrong?”

Youngjae shakes his head, quickly taking his hand back. “It’s nothing. Well, I mean––“ He cuts himself off, pursing his lips. “––I don’t know, you’ve been a little out of it since we…since we entered the exhibit, actually. Are _you_ okay?”

Guilt shoots through Yongguk like a lightning bolt, making his entire stomach churn. He gives Youngjae an apologetic smile. “Sorry, I guess I _have_ been a little distracted lately.”

Youngjae waves his hands, a little dismissive and a lot more apologetic, and it just makes Yongguk feel _worse_. “No, no, it’s fine. I was just wondering.”

“Maybe we should check out the other exhibits?” Yongguk suggests, nodding a head towards the other end of the hall.

Youngjae nods, walking beside Yongguk out into the other exhibits. The guilt that has taken hold in the pit of his stomach is making him queasy now, but he swallows it down. Himchan’s words echo in his mind, and he mentally swats the thoughts away.

_“You have to give him an answer eventually.”_

Yongguk frowns, trying to keep his focus on Youngjae instead.

//

A quick search online of _Jung Daehyun_ gives Yongguk a flurry of pages, but he manages to find Daehyun’s webpage promoting his photography. It’s sleek and minimalist with a single black and white photo in the background that follows the page as he scrolls down. Daehyun must have hired someone to make the site for him.

Yongguk reads through the short blurb in the _ABOUT_ section.

 _Jung Daehyun was born in 1960 in Busan, in the midst of the Second Republic and spent a majority of his youth advocating for student rights in the 1980s. Among this political climate, he developed a love of music and photography. His most recent exhibit,_ 1980 _, features the face of and is dedicated to Kim Himchan, a friend who unfortunately lost his life during the Gwangju Uprising. Find his other exhibits on display at his gallery in downtown Seoul._

Beside the biography is another photograph with a man who Yongguk recognizes as Himchan. He stands at the side of a river with a joint in between his index finger and thumb with the night city skyline as his background. He looks like he’s in the middle of turning around, his eyes closed, the corners of his mouth turned upward just slightly. The old streetlight behind him envelopes him in a golden glow.

Yongguk thinks back to each photo he saw in the exhibit. There’s something about the way each of Daehyun’s photos portray Himchan… Yongguk thinks they make Himchan look like some ethereal being come down to Earth for the first time, caught in the middle of doing some mundane human task. There’s something romantic there, but Yongguk can’t put his finger on it.

Yongguk scrolls through the few photos of the exhibit that have been put online, but they’re all the same as in the museum. “Can I ask something that may or may not be out of line?”

“Yeah, go ahead,” Himchan replies.

Yongguk immediately doesn’t want to say it anymore because he doesn’t want to cross some unspoken boundary, but he brought it up, so he has to push through it now. “Do you remember anything yet?”

Himchan is quiet for a moment, and Yongguk only knows he’s still there by the faint, rhythmic static that sounds like breathing. “Was that really your question? If so, no, I still do not remember anything.”

Yongguk purses his lips, trying to find the courage to bring it up. “It seems like… To me, at least. But I don’t know… I mean… Who am I to say? I––“

“Get to the point, Yongguk,” Himchan snaps. He lets out an irritated huff. “You’re stuttering like you didn’t prepare for the political debate.”

“Oddly specific,” Yongguk replies, turning his gaze to the radio like Himchan can actually see him through the speaker.

“Yongguk. The _point_ ,” Himchan gripes.

Yongguk sighs, leaning back into his chair and running his hands down his face. His voice comes out muffled behind his hands when he says, “I think Daehyun was maybe your lover at some point during your lives.”

Himchan lapses into a silence so long, Yongguk doesn’t know what to do. He lowers his hands and looks over at the radio again, waiting for a response. He’d be fine with even a scoff, anything to let Yongguk know where he stands with his statement because right now, he really just feels like he crossed a line he shouldn’t have.

“Himchan?” Yongguk asks, his voice quiet. His entire living room is too quiet except for the hum of his heater and laptop fan. “Are you okay?”

“You might be correct,” Himchan eventually says.

“I might––“ Yongguk blinks. “What?”

“I think I just remembered something,” Himchan replies, his voice softer than ever. “And I think you were right.”

//

“Do you ever think we should be more careful with this?”

Himchan scoffs. “How much more careful can we be?”

Daehyun gives Himchan a doubtful look, but he draws in another lungful of marijuana. He breathes it out, letting the smoke swirl up above his face as he sighs. “I’m just saying.”

“Daehyun, we need a _break_. This isn’t going to destroy our lives,” Himchan says. He holds his hand out, and Daehyun hands him the joint. “Besides, we have a towel under the door and I’m gonna air out the room as soon as we’re done. Plus, who’s going to suspect the radio host and photography major?”

“It’s fine arts, and you always play rock songs on your show,” Daehyun shoots back, glaring at Himchan as he draws in a lungful. “That’s enough reason for some people to suspect us.”

Himchan rolls his eyes. “We’ve done this before, and you never had a problem with it. What’s different about this time?”

“I’m just worried, you know,” Daehyun replies, looking down at his lap. “I heard this one upperclassman got caught––“

“Because they were careless,” Himchan interrupts with a scoff. “Daehyun, would I let us get caught?”

Daehyun sighs, finally seeming to drop the subject and nods to the bag of chips on Himchan’s desk. “Can you pass that?”

Himchan hands the chips to Daehyun. He switches on his radio, and frowns when the song playing is one of the government-approved _healthy songs_. It’s got horrible composition and the singing is shit. Not to mention the overly patriotic lyrics. It’s annoying more than anything. Himchan stands up from the side of his bed to fetch his box of cassette tapes.

“Pick a tape,” Himchan says, rummaging through the box. He places it by Daehyun’s feet and sits back down.

“Bob Dylan? Led Zeppelin? Neil Young?” Daehyun asks, tilting his head as he tries to decipher the English on the tapes. He hands one to Himchan before going back to look into the box. “Where’d you get these?”

Himchan pops the tape into his radio and hits play. The guitar begins to strum and the harmonica plays with the drums beating out a slow and steady rhythm. “One of my more okay cousins was in the military. Stationed in the U.S. He gave me the box for my birthday when he came back.” He takes the burning joint from Daehyun’s fingers.

“Hmm. That’s cool.” Daehyun places the box in the space between them. “So, about yesterday. I’m sorry. It was a bad joke.”

Himchan turns to look at Daehyun, the joint caught halfway in the air just before his lips. He knows Daehyun is a simple man with ultimately good intentions, but this is one topic Himchan just doesn’t want to touch on right now. It’s never been a topic he’s wanted to touch on. Ever. He wants to drop it immediately.

“It’s fine,” Himchan replies, taking a long drag before handing the joint off to Daehyun. He lets the smoke sit in the center of his chest for a moment before letting it out to swirl above his head in a thick plume. “Really.”

“Are you sure, though, hyung?” Daehyun asks, quiet and unsure. He stares at the joint, the flame slowly eating away at the paper.

Himchan looks at Daehyun, tilting his head. “Why are you pushing this so much? It’s fine. Stop stressing over it.”

Daehyun shakes his head. “What if I wanted to tell you something? Somewhat related?”

Himchan searches Daehyun’s eyes. He knows where this is going. One hundred percent. Absolute certainty. He places a hand on Daehyun’s shoulder, willing him to look up at him, trying to get their eyes to meet. “What is it, Daehyun?”

Daehyun bites the inside of his cheek. He shakes his head again, but their eyes don’t meet. “Forget it. It’s nothing. Forget I ever said anything.”

Himchan furrows his eyebrows. “What did you want to tell me? Are you okay?”

“I…” Daehyun’s gaze flicks up to Himchan’s, but then immediately falls back to the ground between them. “I don’t know if I can tell you.”

And if Himchan knows anything about self-loathing, he can see it in Daehyun’s eyes right now. The fear of rejection. The disgust with himself. The uncertainty. The desire to change versus the feeling of constantly wearing a mask. It’s all there, swirling in Daehyun’s eyes, and Himchan feels his heart tug towards Daehyun. To comfort him? To let him know he’s not alone? To show _any_ sort of vulnerable commonality to him? He doesn’t know what to call the undeniable tug in his chest.

But Himchan can’t act on any of it until Daehyun lets him.

“You can,” Himchan says, his voice dipping lower. He places a hand on Daehyun’s shoulder, squeezing in what he hopes is reassurance. “You can trust me.”

Daehyun glances at Himchan’s hand, and he suddenly whips his head up to look at Himchan, his eyes wide. “I’m gay, hyung. God, I’m _gay_ , and I’ve known it since I was young, and I thought there was something _wrong_ with me until I came to college, and maybe I was a little hopeful that you were too, but then you reacted the way you did yesterday and I don’t _know_ , hyung. It’s… I’m sorry. I should go.”

Daehyun begins to stand up, abandoning the joint on their makeshift ashtray, but Himchan’s hand darts out to grab onto Daehyun’s.

“Daehyun, wait. Don’t–– Don’t go,” Himchan says, his grip tightening around Daehyun’s shaking wrist. He stands up, leveling Daehyun with an even gaze. He doesn’t even know what to say except to say what he’s always wanted to hear. “It’s a part of who you are, and I…I don’t hate you for that.”

Tears begin welling up in Daehyun’s eyes. His eyes scrunch shut, his eyebrows pulling together, like he’s trying to hold it all back. He grabs onto Himchan’s hand, leaning forward until his forehead is pressed into Himchan’s shoulder. Himchan can only wrap his arms around Daehyun’s trembling figure as the tears seep into his shirt. He places a hand on the tense space between Daehyun’s shoulder blades.

“Hyung… Thank you,” Daehyun whispers.

Neil Young’s soft, almost shaking, tenor voice croons softly from the speaker, “ _Keep me searchin’ for a heart of gold_.”

//

Yongguk’s chair squeaks as he leans back, stretching his arms above his head. It’s getting late, and he’s been researching about _Jung Daehyun_ for far longer than he would have liked. He still has a thesis project to compose, after all.

“I think it’d be good to get him to talk with you, but it might be hard getting a meeting with him one-on-one.” Yongguk rubs at the scratchy stubble growing on his chin.

“Why, what makes you say that?” Himchan asks.

Yongguk goes back to the tab with the gallery hours posted. “He doesn’t have any personal itineraries up online. We can try looking into his gallery, but it’s a 50/50 chance if he’s there or not.” He bites the inside of his cheek. “If he even goes there at all.”

“Hey, do you believe in fate?”

Yongguk squints at the radio perched on his desk. “What?”

“I mean…” Himchan takes a deep breath, then lets it out in a huff. Yongguk can’t help but imagine the fluff of Himchan’s hair bouncing with the movement. “Do you believe in, I don’t know, that predestined shit? Or is everything that happens all just…coincidence?”

Yongguk blinks, furrowing his eyebrows. He can’t say he’s never thought about it because he’s _definitely_ thought about it. Usually in his bed at night when he can’t sleep. “What brought this up?”

“I don’t know… Do you think it was a coincidence that you found my radio? Or do you… Do you think something else led you to it?” Himchan sounds so unsure, like he just wants to drop the topic the longer he continues talking.

Yongguk continues to gnaw on the inside of his cheek. He doesn’t know why he’s putting so much earnest thought into this, but there’s something about the uncertainty in Himchan’s voice that makes him do it.

“Actually, you know what? Never mind. Forget it. Just pretend I never brought this up,” Himchan suddenly says. He adds, quieter, “It was dumb, anyway.”

“No, no, I was just thinking,” Yongguk says, quickly sitting up. “Can I be honest with you?”

“O…kay?” Himchan replies, and Yongguk tries not to imagine him sitting with his arms crossed, an eyebrow quirked.

“When I first saw your radio in the thrift shop, I… Uh. It felt like I was being pulled to it, or more like… Something was telling me to buy it,” Yongguk says, scratching at his stubble again. He really should shave this soon. “So, I don’t know if there’s any actual…being dictating our every action, but I think there’s _something_ at work.”

Himchan hums. “Interesting. That’s very interesting. Thank you for your input.” He’s quiet for another moment, and Yongguk wonders if the conversation is done when Himchan continues, “Well, I’m just gonna put this out there. I’m glad you’re the one helping me out. And I’m grateful you’re working so hard to help me. So. Thank you.”

Yongguk smiles despite himself. He feels something shift in him, but it’s so subtle, he isn’t even sure what it is. “You’re the one who guilt tripped me into helping you.”

“Okay, but to be _fair_ ,” Himchan starts, immediately defensive, “I didn’t think it would work. I think you’re just very easily convinced.”

Yongguk doesn’t know if he should take that as a compliment, but he says an earnest “Thank you” anyway. “And you’re welcome, by the way.”

//

“Have you considered going into modeling?” Daehyun asks, snapping another picture of Himchan. “I can’t wait to develop these.”

“Fucking–– Stop! I look like shit right now,” Himchan groans, pulling the covers above his head. He turns on his side so he isn’t facing Daehyun.

“Hyung, I’m serious. You should go into modeling or something. You still look good on camera, but really… You’re too beautiful for film.” Daehyun places his camera back on the bedside table and slides back under the covers with Himchan, tracing his fingertips along the lines of Himchan’s back.

Himchan arches away from Daehyun’s touch, hissing through his teeth. “Your hands are _freezing!_ Get the _hell_ away from me, you icicle demon!”

“But _hyung_ …,” Daehyun whines. He wraps his arms around Himchan’s middle, burrowing his face into Himchan’s back. “You’re _so_ warm.”

Himchan scoffs and twists in Daehyun’s arms until they’re facing each other. “Well, I don’t like to waste my body heat on excessive talking.”

Daehyun squints into Himchan’s eyes, almost pouting. “You know that’s not how it works.”

“I’m just trying to get you to shut up, but it’s not really working,” Himchan says, bringing a hand up to brush away the hairs hanging in front of his forehead. He brings his hand around to the back of Daehyun’s neck, combing his fingers through the softer strands.

“You know there’s a better way to do that, right?” Daehyun says. His voice dips lower and the sounds reverberate through Himchan’s chest, sending white hot heat pulsing through his core.

Himchan leans forward, and Daehyun’s eyes close. He starts at Daehyun’s forehead, then his fluttering eyelids, and then lower to his warm cheeks, pressing scattered kisses across the soft skin. He leans further down to catch Daehyun’s lips, reveling in the way Daehyun sighs into it. Himchan places a hand against Daehyun’s shoulder, opening his mouth just the tiniest bit, and pushes just enough to press him into the mattress. Daehyun dips his hands into Himchan’s briefs, running his cold fingertips against the warm skin.

Himchan jumps up, accidentally biting down on Daehyun’s lower lip. The sound that escapes Daehyun’s mouth is a mix somewhere between a whine and a groan. Himchan grabs Daehyun’s wrists in each hand and pins them above his head, stretching him and exposing his bare chest.

“You’re _cold_ ,” Himchan says, his mouth hovering above Daehyun’s. He glares into Daehyun’s half-lidded eyes.

“Hyung, _please_ ,” Daehyun whines, barely opening his eyes and squirming beneath Himchan.

And if Himchan doesn’t feel his heart burst in his chest, then he doesn’t know what to call this.

//

Yongguk stands outside Jung Daehyun’s gallery in downtown with Himchan’s radio weighing heavy in his coat pocket. It’s on the first floor of a small warehouse with warm Edison bulbs dangling from metal beams in the ceiling. People, both young and old, stand inside, admiring the pieces on display. Only a handful of employees are on the display floor helping out.

“Are you inside yet?” Himchan asks.

Yongguk gulps. “I’m just stepping inside.”

“Well, hurry, we have to talk to Daehyun,” Himchan says.

Yongguk doesn’t see the rush, but he steps through the giant wooden door into the warmth with as much purpose. The chatter is low, and the atmosphere isn’t exactly what he’d expect inside a sixty-year-old man’s gallery. He walks through the slowly, admiring the pieces displayed on the exposed brick walls. They vary in size and subject, from small landscapes to large blown-out portraits, but Yongguk feels the love and emotion seemingly poured into each one.

He’s staring at a photograph of the Seoul skyline at sunset from the 1990’s when he hears footsteps approach him.

“Hi, can I help you with anything?” someone asks behind Yongguk.

Yongguk turns around to find a young woman smiling at him. He smiles back. “Hi. I’m, uh… Is Jung Daehyun here? Would it be possible to speak with him?”

She nods. “He is here, but unfortunately, he’s busy at the moment. I can let him know. Are you alright with waiting?”

“Yeah, that’s fine,” Yongguk replies. He smiles again. “Thank you.”

She bows her head. “Thank you for your patience.”

Yongguk turns back to the photograph as she steps away towards the back of the warehouse. He sits at one of the benches laid out on the floor, content with just listening to the idle conversations pass by him.

“Is it fancy?” Himchan asks.

Yongguk adjusts the bud in his ear, taking a sweeping glance at the warehouse. “Relatively speaking.”

Himchan sighs, and it sounds almost sad. “I remembered… He always wanted to open up a gallery. He loved taking photos of things.” Yongguk tries to imagine what Himchan’s face would look like wistful. “I think he told me once… I was too beautiful for film.” He laughs softly.

Yongguk’s gut churns uncomfortably. He suddenly doesn’t want to be the medium for Himchan anymore because he feels like he’s intruding on something he shouldn’t be. Crossing another line he saw too late. Is it wrong to want to just leave Himchan’s radio on this bench? Is it wrong to want to leave this all to Daehyun?

Why does Yongguk, of all the people on this planet, have to help Himchan in his quest to… To what _exactly_ anymore? Find his body? His killer? His memories?

Yongguk is about to stand up and walk right out when he sees an older man walking towards him in his peripheral.

“Are you the young man looking to speak to me?” he asks, his voice creaking and coarse.

Yongguk stands up and bows. “Jung Daehyun-sshi? I just have some questions I’d like to ask you.”

Daehyun nods and the outer corners of his eyes wrinkles as he smiles. “Of course. Is it about purchasing one of my works?”

Yongguk shakes his head. He opens his mouth to reply, but Himchan interrupts him, “ _Wow_ , he sounds like an old fuck.”

“I’m doing research for an article on the victims of the Gwangju Uprising, and one of the notable people is Kim Himchan.” Yongguk notices how Daehyun’s shoulders stiffen at the name, but nothing else gives him away. “I couldn’t help but notice… Your most recent exhibit is about him. Do you mind if I ask you some questions about him and the Gwangju Uprising?”

“I’m sorry, but I refuse to answer any questions regarding the Gwangju Uprising,” Daehyun says, his gaze hardening with each passing second.

Yongguk frowns, his eyes scanning Daehyun’s expression. He’s smiling, but it’s not warm and friendly anymore. There’s a hostility there that sends a cold and fearful shiver down Yongguk’s spine. He takes an involuntary step back.

“What the fuck? Are you sure you got the right guy?” Himchan asks.

“Of course. I’m sorry for presuming.” Yongguk bows deep at the waist, trying to ignore the burning in his ears when other people begin looking their way. “Your work is excellent, though.”

“Thank you,” Daehyun says through gritted teeth.

“No, this is bullshit! He’s just being a dumbass!” Himchan exclaims, and Yongguk wants to snipe right back at him, but there are too many people looking at him, and he just wants to leave _now_ because it’s very obvious he isn’t wanted here right now. “We gotta tell him something that’ll make him talk.”

Yongguk is already outside and rounding the corner into an alleyway. He pulls the radio out of his pocket, his hands trembling as he grips the radio. How hard does he have to squeeze it until the plastic breaks? Until he can pick apart the wires and circuitboards? Until he can get Himchan to just _shut up?_

“Yongguk! Are you outside? We have to get him to talk!” Himchan exclaims.

“He didn’t want to talk, Himchan,” Yongguk says, leaning against the wall, suddenly tired. “What am I supposed to do? He can call the cops on me if I push too hard.”

Himchan is quiet, and Yongguk isn’t sure if he likes he ringing silence in his ears, but he revels in it nonetheless. When Himchan speaks again, he’s calmer. “Tell him about the night he came out to me.”

Yongguk shakes his head. “No. No! I can’t… I’m _not_ doing that! That’s too personal. I’m not saying that to him!”

“You don’t have to specifically say when he came out. Just… I’ll tell you what to say. You just have to get back in there,” Himchan says, almost pleading. “Yongguk, _please_. I…I want to talk to him.”

And really, going back into that gallery is the absolute last thing Yongguk wants to do, but…somehow, his conscience is tugging him back inside by the collar like an irritated parent dragging him by the elbow. He sees Daehyun standing by a portrait of a woman, chatting with someone. When he catches sight of Yongguk, he promptly excuses himself and meets Yongguk halfway to the middle of the gallery floor with a glare.

“I thought I told you I didn’t want to talk to you about the Gwangju Uprising,” Daehyun says.

Yongguk nods, smiling placatingly, but Daehyun doesn’t budge. “I know, and I’m sorry, but––“ He takes a deep breath. “––I think you might want to hear what he…what I have to say.”

Daehyun raises an eyebrow, but he doesn’t say anything else.

“Follow my lead,” Himchan says, his voice the only comfort Yongguk has. “On February 10, 1980…“

“You were with Kim Himchan, smoking a joint rolled by him––“

“––because I was the only one between us who knew how. He apologized for a joke he told me the day before––“

“––and you…confessed something to him that night––“

Himchan takes a deep breath. “––with Neil Young’s Heart of Gold playing in the background.”

Himchan stops talking, and so does Yongguk. He waits for Daehyun response, but he’s only met with wide eyes and a slack jaw. The employee who helped Yongguk earlier glances warily between them before placing a light hand on Daehyun’s shoulder. He seems to blink out of his trance.

“If you could follow me into my office,” Daehyun says, turning on his heel.

“Yes! It worked!” Himchan exclaims, but Yongguk doesn’t feel so sure.

Yongguk follows Daehyun to a back office with a wide window looking out into the gallery. Daehyun signals to the seat opposite his in the desk, and closes the blinds on the window. Once Daehyun is all settled on the other side of the desk, he crosses his arms above his chest.

“How did you know that?” Daehyun asks, narrowing his eyes. “You couldn’t have guessed any of that by chance. It was too specific. Who _are_ you?”

Yongguk gulps. “I…” The radio weighs heavy in his coat pocket.

“Let me talk to him,” Himchan says.

“This…might be easier to explain…if I just showed you,” Yongguk says. He takes the radio out of his pocket and places it on the desk, much like he did with Seungho. He unplugs his earbuds and turns the volume up. “Himchan… Go ahead.”

Daehyun’s irritated gaze flickers from the radio to Yongguk, ready to snap, until Himchan speaks.

“Daehyun? Can you hear me alright? It’s me. It’s Himchan.”

Daehyun looks back up at Yongguk, his wide eyes disbelieving, but Yongguk can see… He almost sees hope behind all that. Daehyun looks back at the radio, taking it into his hands slowly like he’s afraid he might break it. “Himchan-hyung? Is this… If this is a joke, I’m calling the police.”

“Daehyun, don’t call the police on Yongguk. He’s helping me, and––“ Himchan pauses, as if considering something. “––he’s my friend.”

Daehyun places the radio back on the desk and leans back in his chair. “Oh. Oh my god. This is real. You’re talking to me _through_ a _radio?_ How fucked up is this? You sound like you haven’t aged a day, hyung.”

Himchan laughs, and…is he holding back a sob? “You sound like you smoked weed everyday for forty years.”

Daehyun clutches his chest as a full laugh erupts from him. He coughs, wet and painfully full of phlegm. “You’re not completely off the mark.”

“Oh… Oh, Daehyunnie. I wish I could see you right now,” Himchan coos. “You sound horrible.”

Daehyun’s smile slides off his face like melting candle wax, replaced with a hostile snarl. “You’re the one who decided to go off and be a hero.” He scoffs, and Yongguk shivers at the sudden shift. “You’re the one who went and _died_ like you’re… Like you were supposed to be some _martyr_. You’re not the only one who died in Gwangju, hyung.”

The static surrounding Himchan’s voice crackles a little louder before dying down again. “I… Daehyun, why are you angry?”

“Did dying give you amnesia? You remember when I _came out_ to you, but you don’t remember––“ Daehyun closes his eyes and takes a deep breath to compose himself. He opens his eyes again, and he just looks, more than anything, _drained_. “You don’t remember when I left? And you didn’t come with me?”

Himchan doesn’t reply for a moment, then very softly, “No… I don’t.”

Daehyun looks at Yongguk. “I’m guessing you’re not really researching for an article, are you?”

Yongguk shakes his head, avoiding Daehyun’s gaze, but he can sense hurt when he hears it in Daehyun’s voice.

“Figured. I’ll tell you _both_ what happened, then.”

//

“Hyung, we have to leave Gwangju. We shouldn’t even have come here,” Daehyun says, his voice hushed. They managed to find some privacy in an empty lecture hall, but the corridors are overflowing with other students and protesters, shoved into the nearest building they could find to spend the night. “I was talking to some guys earlier, and they plan to leave for Seoul tonight with a couple others. They know a way past the military cordon.”

Himchan turns to Daehyun with disgust bubbling in the pit of his stomach. He frowns at the thought. “You don’t want to see this through?”

“Hyung, you’ve seen what those soldiers are doing. What they’re capable of,” Daehyun replies, pointing to the dark window beside them. Gunshots and screams can be heard in the distance. His eyes are wide with… Is that fear? “There are literally _corpses_ in the streets. They don’t give a _shit_ about us, hyung. We’re going to die if we stay here.”

Daehyun moves to place a hand on Himchan’s shoulder, but he takes a step back, shaking his head, staring at Daehyun like he’s spewing nonsense––which he _is_. “Leave? Daehyun, we… We can’t just _leave_. We have to support the others. What happened to standing up for what this country needs?”

Daehyun takes his hand back, balling it into a trembling fist at his side. He looks out the window where the gunfire still continues, and looks back at Himchan with sadness in his eyes. “So you’d throw your life away for this? Without even a second thought?”

“I’ll see this through. No matter what it takes.” Himchan crosses his arms above his chest. He’s made his choice, and he’s too far in to turn back back now. “I’m not turning my back on the chance to make a difference.”

Tears begin swelling in Daehyun’s eyes, and he shakes his head. “You’ll _die_ , hyung. How are you not scared of that? What about your family?” He sniffs, wiping away his tears with the back of his hand, avoiding meeting Himchan’s eyes. “What about _me?”_

Himchan’s breath hitches. Daehyun looks like a child, unsure and afraid of being abandoned. He looks a lot like he did that night he came out. Himchan can’t help but step forward and gather Daehyun into his arms.

“I _am_ scared, don’t get me wrong.” Himchan places a hand on Daehyun’s head, smoothing the hair down. “It’s terrifying being here, but this is history being made, and I have to be here to help make it. If I die in the process, then so be it.”

Daehyun rubs his eyes in Himchan’s shirt, groaning. “Why? _Why_ do you have to do this?”

“Because it’s the right thing to do,” Himchan says, pulling back. He holds Daehyun at arm’s length, and leans forward to press a kiss to Daehyun’s forehead. "Not just for me, but for the people who will live in this country after us."

Daehyun takes a stumbling step back, separating himself from Himchan’s grasp, his eyes ablaze with anger. He wipes the rest of his tears away with his sleeve. “So? Fuck that! What about  _you_ right now? You’re going to die! You still have so much to live for!”

Himchan grits his teeth. “Daehyun, I’m not having this conversation with you. I made my choice, and apparently, so have you. You can leave, but I’m not going with you.”

“Why did I think I could convince you?” Daehyun huffs, almost to himself. A little louder, he spits, “You know this isn’t like your radio shows where you play your rock songs. This is _real_ , and your life is at stake.”

Himchan takes a deep breath, crossing his arms above his chest. “I don’t have any business with a coward who runs at the first sign of risk.”

Hurt flashes in Daehyun’s eyes, but Himchan can’t be too sure in the dim lights.

“If you don’t come back to Seoul alive, I’ll never forgive you,” Daehyun says. He turns around towards the door, slamming the door behind him.

Himchan lets out a shaking breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding and crumples to the ground, holding a hand to his mouth to muffle his sobs. Hushed chattering reaches his ears from the corridor outside, but beyond that, he can still hear the staccato gunshots blending with the tune of horrified screams. He’s never felt more alone in his life.

Daehyun didn’t even look back.

//

Yongguk stares at his hands in his lap. He finds himself at an absolute loss for words.

“I’m sorry,” Himchan whispers. His voice is barely decipherable above the static. “Daehyun, I’m so sorry.”

Daehyun looks at the radio, not angry, or vindictive, or anything of the sort. He’s just…resigned now. Tired. “Yeah. I’m sorry, too. I blamed myself for your death. I kept thinking, what if I’d stayed with you? Would that have changed anything? Could I have protected you? It took a long time, but I learned to move on.” He frowns, staring at the radio as if he can see Himchan through it. “Have _you_ , hyung?”

“I’m trying to,” Himchan replies. “I’m trying.”

“If you’re still just as persistent as before, I’m sure you will soon,” Daehyun says. He heaves himself off the chair and heads for the door. Yongguk gathers the radio into his pocket before Daehyun opens the door, but he rests his hand on the doorknob. He smiles at Yongguk. “It was pleasure to speak with you… I’m sorry, I don’t think I ever got your name.”

“It’s Bang Yongguk.” Yongguk bows his head at Daehyun, then holds out his hand.

Daehyun smiles, taking Yongguk’s hand into his own. They’re rough and calloused, almost leathery from a life properly lived. “Thank you, Bang Yongguk-sshi.” He lets go of Yongguk’s hand. “Take care of him.”

“I’m stuck in my radio. I think I can do that just fine,” Himchan gripes, his voice muffled in the pocket.

Daehyun nods, laughing once just for the sake of filling the heavy silence. “Of course, sorry. I still can’t believe you’re still here. In your _radio_.” He takes a deep breath. “Goodbye, hyung. I hope you find your peace.”

“Bye, Daehyun. I’m… I’m glad we had this talk,” Himchan says.

Daehyun opens the door, and Yongguk walks out, his pocket still heavy, but the weight feels different this time.

//

They’re not much different from before they began doing this, but it feels right. Daehyun fills Himchan’s heart, and it feels…right. Daehyun slots himself next to Himchan, pressing kisses to Himchan’s temple when they’re alone. Years of denial and trying to change an integral part of himself cast aside with just a look. He can’t help the way his chest swells when Daehyun smiles at him through a kiss, mumbling a quick “I love you” with a smile so wide, it takes over his entire face.

And Himchan is happy––for a bit.

As the oldest, he has an obligation to his family, and that’s not something he can cast aside so easily. He can’t hide Daehyun in the closet with him. It’s not big enough to fit _two_ skeletons. He doesn’t want to hide anymore, but he also loves his family.

Himchan stands in the doorway to his childhood room, his eyes wide, as his mother sits on his bed, tears in her eyes.

“You should leave,” she whispers with a tremor to her voice. Himchan takes a step towards her, but she shakes her head. “Before your father comes home.”

And Himchan grits his teeth. He takes a deep breath, collects the pieces of the mask he spent years carefully constructing, and grabs his bag in the corner of his room. He turns around to find his little sister avoiding his gaze.

“Heeyoung?” Himchan tries, almost allowing himself a smile.

She glances up at him, then back down, before hurrying off into her room. She slams her door shut, and Himchan hates how the sound makes his chest ache.

Himchan heads for the front door, but it slams open before he can reach it. His father storms in, fury emanating off him in the way he corners Himchan. He grits his teeth, grabbing Himchan by the collar. He smells like alcohol and cheap street food.

“Honey!” Himchan’s mother exclaims from the hall.

“You. You’re a disgrace to this family. You’re _sick_ ,” he spits. “What you have. It’s a disease. You just. Have to be cured.” He turns to Himchan with sharp, glaring clarity that pierces right through. “I refuse to have you infect this family any longer.”

Himchan wakes up with a gasp, his hands gripping his blankets. He stares at his dark ceiling, trying to even out his breaths and calm his racing heartbeat. He loves his family, except they won’t anymore when they find out. He knows that without a hint of a doubt.

He turns his head and sees Daehyun sleeping on his stomach, completely knocked out. He smiles, running a hand through Daehyun’s hair, but he can’t help the ache that burns throughout him, slow as magma and just as painful.

Maybe, if everybody else leaves, he can let himself fall back on Daehyun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whoop and there's the turning point get ready to hit up angst town real soon
> 
> i planned this as 3 chapters, but now we're getting 4 i guess (((very possibly 5 but don't quote me on that)))

**Author's Note:**

> come yell at me on my [tumblr](http://www.guernica-flow.tumblr.com)


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